The Things You Notice When You’re Somewhere Else

My mom and I were sitting outside at Frida nel Parco, a café tucked into a park in Bologna. It was around six in the evening. She had an Aperol spritz, I had a Campari spritz, and between us was a slice of mushroom focaccia. We'd brought a deck of cards and had nowhere else we needed to be.

As far as I could tell, we were the only tourists there. Nobody around us was speaking English, and I've realized over the years how much I enjoy that. When I can't understand every conversation happening around me, it's almost like someone turns the volume down. The voices become part of the background. My brain stops trying to follow everything, and I can just sit there and take in what's happening around me.

I often joke that if I ever witnessed a crime, the sketch artist would want to talk to me first. I'm an excellent people watcher. I notice what people are wearing, what they're drinking, who arrived with whom, the way people interact with each other—probably far more than is necessary for someone simply trying to enjoy an aperitivo.

So naturally, I was watching the park come to life around us.

People were starting to arrive in groups. Some looked like they'd come from work, others from class. Chairs got pulled over from neighboring tables. Drinks were ordered. Friends greeted each other with hugs, kisses on the cheeks, and the kind of casual affection that barely seemed worth noticing.

None of this was new to me. I've spent a lot of time living and traveling in Europe over the years, and I've exchanged many a kiss-kiss myself. Depending on where you are and who you're with, it's simply how you greet someone.

But for whatever reason, sitting there with my Campari spritz, watching people come and go, I started thinking about how differently some of those same gestures might be perceived at home.

Not everywhere. Not by everyone. I'm generalizing here, and I know that. Plenty of American men hug their friends, tell them they love them, and are perfectly comfortable showing affection.

But I also grew up in the era of “no homo.”

There was almost a disclaimer built into male affection. You could compliment another guy. You could tell him you loved him. You could even be physically affectionate. But if there was any possibility someone might interpret that affection as attraction, there was a joke available to make sure everyone understood.

I'm being affectionate toward another man. But don't worry. I'm not gay.

As a gay man myself, there's something almost funny about that to me now. But sitting there, I started wondering whether the pressure some men feel to avoid being perceived as gay ever limits more than physical affection.

Because if you're constantly aware of how much affection is too much, I wonder if you start monitoring other things, too.

Maybe you don't tell your friend you miss him. Maybe “I love you” gets turned into a joke. Maybe talking about being lonely or scared or having a genuinely terrible time feels a little too vulnerable.

Or maybe it doesn't. Maybe I'm connecting dots that aren't actually connected.

A kiss on the cheek certainly doesn't tell me that the men sitting around us have deeper friendships than men back home. It doesn't tell me they're better at talking about their feelings. And I'm definitely not suggesting Italy has somehow solved toxic masculinity because a couple of guys kissed each other before ordering a beer.

I just found myself wondering what happens when affection between men doesn't need an explanation.

That's really the part that stayed with me. The people around us weren't making a statement. They weren't challenging anything. Friends arrived, greeted each other warmly, pulled up chairs, and got on with their evening. The affection wasn't noteworthy to them. Maybe that's exactly why it became noteworthy to me.

Eventually, Mom and I went back to our cards. People kept arriving. Drinks kept appearing on tables. The park got a little busier as the evening went on.

And somewhere between the Campari spritz, mushroom focaccia, and cards, I kept coming back to the same question: If men never learned that showing affection toward another man was something they needed to be careful about, would anything else about their friendships be different?

I don't know. Maybe that's too much to read into a few cheek kisses over aperitivo.

But sometimes traveling gives you enough distance from what's normal at home to notice it in the first place.